


A New Year's Miscellany

by prairiecrow



Category: A.I. Artificial Intelligence (2001), Knight Rider (1982), Knight Rider 2000, ReBoot (TV), Real Ghostbusters, Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, The Matrix (Movies)
Genre: A.I. to Human, Age Difference, Alien Rituals, Culture Shock, Empathic Bond, Enemy Lovers, Established Relationship, Exile, F/M, Fascination, First Kiss, Friendship, Love, M/M, New Year's Eve, Opposites Attract, Ownership, Robots, Telepathic Link, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-01
Updated: 2013-01-01
Packaged: 2017-11-23 04:32:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 2,997
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/618102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/prairiecrow/pseuds/prairiecrow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Year's themed short stories in the fandoms I've written for this past year: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, The Matrix, ReBoot, The Real Ghostbusters, Knight Rider (Absinthe!verse), Knight Rider 2000, and A.I.: Artificial Intelligence.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Elim Garak & Julian Bashir

The Bajoran year was two hundred and ninety-six Cardassian days long — shorter by far, yet each year of his exile in enemy space seemed practically interminable. It was always a bit of a surprise when the dreary station was briefly brightened by banners and colourful lights celebrating yet another turning of the celestial wheel, a celebration in which Garak was never invited to take part, but which he nevertheless marked in his own sardonic way: _I have survived, a fact noted and rejoiced over by none whatsoever._  

This year was different. Three days ago an invitation had been tendered over lunch: "Garak, I'm holding a small party in my quarters on Torta Eve to celebrate the New Year. I don't suppose you'd like to come…?" So eagerly yet tentatively offered, with an appealing gaze of wide warm eyes full of pointless hope. 

He had refused, of course, making an excuse about having to work late to complete some Torta Day commissions. All lies, of course. And he spent the evening in his own quarters, alone — of course. 

But this time, for the first time in over five years of banishment, he lit a candle and sang one of the ancient Cardassian hymns to the silent night, four brief lines about the way that green shoots drive deep into the earth and bind fast what lies beneath, and bring nourishment to all that dwells in darkness. 

THE END


	2. Neo/Smith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set in the "Degrees of Separation" roleplaying universe:
> 
> http://www.freewebs.com/prairiecrow/index.htm

The Merovingian's Chateau was full of revellers — Red Pills, anthros, Sidhe, executive programs and even ex-Agents — joyously celebrating the turning of a New Year in the Matrix. Neo drifted through the party with a drink in his hand and his cassock laid aside in favour of an elegant suit, feeling strangely out of place, as if he was somehow lying to all these people by not wearing his habitual uniform. Even his mirror shades were absent, an omission commented upon by a singularly jovial General Shepherd: "You really do have fine eyes, Neo — very warm and soulful. It's a pity we don't see them more often." 

He passed through the crowd that parted for him without consciously realizing it, always oriented on an ice-blue gaze that carved its own grim path through the laughing glittering throng. When midnight came they would align like the moon and the sun, because in all the realms there was only one pair of lips that Neo wanted to kiss: cold and bitter as wormwood, curved with the slightest trace of a gloating winter smile.  

THE END


	3. Devon Miles/Kitt (Absinthe!verse)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in the "Absinthe" universe:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/works/611414/chapters/1101654

"It all feels so strange…" 

"Hm?" 

"Wearing a tuxedo. Putting on dress shoes." He looked at himself in the full-length mirror again and wrinkled his pointed nose. "And especially tying on ties. Could you..?" 

"Of course." Devon smiled indulgently and came to help him, sorting out the tangle of fabric and setting it into the right configuration with a few deft tugs. "There you are. Take heart, dear boy: I'm over sixty years old and I still have days when I can't seem to manage the job." 

"Well, I'm glad you were up to the task of managing it for both of us tonight." He scanned his reflection one more time and gave the lapels of his jacket a final quick pull to align them perfectly, looking pleased with the result until sober consideration replaced his satisfaction. His accented query was softly perturbed: "Does it ever get any easier? Being human, I mean?"

"Having been human all my life, I really don't have much basis for comparison." He stepped up close behind the shorter man and took gentle hold of his upper arms, studying the sharply sculpted contours of his smooth face in the glass before pressing a tender kiss to the silky chestnut hair behind his left ear. "But you make it look both graceful and effortless." 

"Thanks," Kitt said sardonically. "I think." He raised his right hand to lay it over Devon's left, lightly squeezing. "I must say that I've had an excellent teacher." 

"You're more than welcome." His lips curved again as he murmured into the AI's ear: "Ask me again after you've had your first glass of champagne." 

He was rewarded with a smile and a rare ripple of laughter, and the way Kitt's green eyes glanced back at him, so sly and so bright, made him wish that the Executive Director of FLAG could afford to be forty minutes or so late to the New Year's party he was hosting. Judging from the way Kitt was leaning back against him, the younger man was entertaining much the same impulse — but… well, a man in his position couldn't throw off the yoke of duty merely for the sake of satisfying personal desire. 

So he put his hand on the small of Kitt's back and guided him toward the door, resolving that they would ring in 1986 in suitable style later. Work before pleasure, after all, was a principle which they were both constitutionally inclined to embrace.  

THE END


	4. Bob/Megabyte

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Takes place in an AU version of S2, post "When Games Collide"

He coasted into Megabyte's inner sanctum unchallenged, noting the way it had been darkened, all the lights off save for a brilliant spot that picked out the virus himself, standing alone in the centre of the cavernous room. "Hey." 

Megabyte turned in place, his hands clasped behind his back and one eyebrow ridge on the rise. "I would have have expected you to be spending the night at the Principle Office." 

A shrug as he stepped off his zipboard and minimized it onto his belt. "It's not as much fun as it sounds, trust me. Especially now. And I would have expected you to be… I dunno, plotting or something." 

A curve of virulently green lips, both amused and bitter. "Well. I suppose everybody needs a little break now and then — even myself." 

He approached the tall narrow sculpture of fluted and curved golden metal that stood upon an elaborately embroidered cloth on the table in front of the virus, his own eyebrows drawing together in a frown as he surveyed the pattern of lights embedded in its hollows, with the top three niches still empty and dark. An equal number of light-emitting diodes, currently deactivated, hovered in a shadowy holding field above a circlet of silver. "So, what _is_ that thing?" 

"Bob, I'm shocked! A Guardian who doesn't recognize a _nor'ton'har_ pillar? Surely your training covered the cultures of —" 

"— the Ionian Wastes, yeah, I recognize the language." He stopped a few bits away from the much taller program — with Megabyte, it was always wisest to keep a respectful distance until invited to approach unless one wanted to risk a growl and the edge of golden talons. Bob didn't always bother to be cautious, but he _was_ wearing his dress uniform. He nodded toward the pillar. "You're from the Wastelands? That would explain a lot." 

"Oh?" The smile turned secretive. "Do tell." 

He smiled back. _Smartass._ "Maybe some other time. Right now, I was wondering…" 

The eyebrow ridge quirked a little higher. 

"… what you were doing for Phase Shift. But if you're already busy —" 

He started to turn away. The weight of a steel hand laid on his right shoulder pad persuaded him to stop.  

"The ritual," Megabyte purred, "can be… interrupted. But I'll expect you to make it worth my while." 

Bob couldn't help but smirk himself as he looked back, and up, into burning alien eyes. "What did you have in mind as a suitable — distraction?" 

Megabyte demonstrated, and the final three _ihor'a_ wound up never getting lit at all.  

THE END


	5. Peter Venkman/Egon Spengler, Janine Melnitz & Egon Spengler

Janine Melnitz stood in the shadows of the firehouse's upstairs hallway, listening to the conversation being held around the next corner. She didn't want to eavesdrop, but the first sentence she'd heard over the noise of the party on the floor below had been so urgently spoken that it had stopped her in her tracks: "Egon, will you listen to me for a second? I'm serious!" 

"You?" Oh God, that voice… it curled down her spine and settled warmly between her legs and threatened, as always, to turn her into a puddle of vanilla ice cream of the floor at Egon Spengler's feet. "Let's just say that I have my doubts." 

"This time I really mean it. We have to talk." A pause, their eyes no doubt locked. A slow deep intake of breath from Peter Venkman, and a hand run through his unruly chestnut hair. "It's been one bitch of a year. We almost died — oh hell, I've lost count of how many times." 

"If you're referring only to this past year, and only to incidents in which all four of us were —" 

"I'm talking about you and me. Specifically." 

"Ah." She could clearly visualize Egon adjusting his glasses on his adorable nose. "In that case, seventeen." 

Peter threw up his hands with almost audible frustration. "See? This is what I'm talking about. You treat it like it's just — numbers. Some kind of equation. And I… can't. Not anymore." 

A frown in his voice: "Are you saying that you no longer want to be a Ghostbuster?" 

"Wh — No!" Wide eyes and an incredulous laugh. "Don't be crazy, Spengler." 

A more deeply questioning frown. "Then I fail to see —" 

"I'm talking about us." There was a note in his voice that she'd never heard before, low and adamant, yet strangely soft. It sent a thrill of quiet terror through her entire body. "The two of us. I can't… I can't go on putting our lives on the line and looking at you afterwards and thinking, _This time could have been it. This time I could have lost him forever._ What I'm trying to say is —aw _dammit_ , Spengs —" 

And abruptly, silence, except for the sound of a quick step forward and two lapels grasped in urgent hands and… more silence. She was cold all over now, a chill that only deepened when Egon finally said with impenetrable calm: "Oh. I see." 

"Don't, Egon." He was openly begging. "Don't give me that thousand mile stare. Just for once, will ya open up and —" 

More silence — but not empty. Far from empty. She could almost feel the intense warmth of it, of skin on skin and male strength meeting male strength. Egon's voice, when at last he spoke again, was a silky purr the likes of which she'd never heard before except in her dreams: "Is that a satisfactory response?" 

"Oh, _hell_ yeah," Peter moaned, and she heard the rustle of dress suit meeting dress suit, arms sliding around each other and — 

Janine turned and crept away again, her vision already blurring as the year of her greatest happiness came to an abrupt and bitter end at twenty-seven minutes to midnight, wishing that old acquaintances could truly be consigned to the well of oblivion. 

THE END


	6. Professor Hobby/Gigolo Joe

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of the "One Degree of Separation" universe:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/22856

Allen Hobby watched his lover-robot move through the New Year's party crowd, smiling and inquiring and fetching drinks and taking coats, doing what he did best: making people happy. With so many guests Hobby had more than enough on his plate in terms of paying due attention to everyone, but he still couldn't stop himself from scanning the room at intervals until he found Joe — or rather, having his gaze drawn inexorably to the most graceful object in the entire room. 

Perhaps it was the dress suit that Joe was currently wearing. The suit had cost over four thousand newbucks, and it was a subtly gorgeous thing: gleaming black with a hint of textured purple brocade woven into the fabric, an object cut to flatter the slim humanoid form of another object Allen Hobby legally owned — a mecha which, when the fines and bribes and the cost of a lost amphibicopter were added up, was worth nearly six hundred and fifty thousand dollars. That made Joe the most expensive non-prototype simulator on the face of the Earth, although nobody here except Hobby's accountant was aware of that particular fact, and he had sworn her to secrecy.  

Was it his awareness of the tremendous cost of this unit? Perhaps: a pride of fierce possession dearly won, a purely territorial imperative. His heart began to beat a little faster whenever he saw someone lay a hand on Joe's shoulder or arm, and the way those remarkable jade eyes grew hooded beneath their tinted lids. He'd given Joe strict orders not to employ his sensuality simulation functions with anybody else, and Joe had proven conscientious about following instructions, but in such a high-stimulation environment core programmed responses could easily override more recent external directives.

So he found himself watching each interaction of physical contact that took place within his line of sight, but never once did he catch Joe offering anything more than that flattering gaze. And really, who could blame people for wanting to touch him? The suit turned Joe into yet another lovely ornament in Hobby's already beautifully decorated apartment: it made him slimmer, quicker, more brilliant somehow, shining with reflected light, like the moon captured in a net for a single magical night. 

No, not merely reflected — there was a radiance there that was entirely his own. It wasn't the outer wrapping, and it wasn't the objective value of the object: it was something deeper, something intangible, something that nobody could touch or measure or estimate the cost of. _That_ was what drew Hobby again and again, moving his heart with the pull of the tides — and that was what gazed up at him with cool intensity when midnight came and he laid his hand to that flawless cheek, smiling down at inhuman perfection, briefly aware of nobody and nothing else in all the world. 

After so many years adrift, they had both reached a sheltered harbour at last. 

THE END


	7. Shawn McCormick/KITT

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Part of the "Knight Rider 2000 AU" universe:
> 
> http://archiveofourown.org/series/26086

As she reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the robotics bay, none too steady in her high heels and tight-fitting scarlet dress, the car's scanner activated with an audible _woosh_ and an inflection of surprise: _"Shawn? What are_ ** _you_** _doing here?"_  

"Ringing in the New Year." She could hear the slight drag on each syllable — oh, _way_ too much champagne under her belt, but after the last nine months she'd felt entitled to cut loose a little. "One minute and thirteen seconds to midnight. Thought you'd appreciate the company." 

 _"I'd appreciate it more if you were sober,"_ KITT said tartly, but as she made her way around the vehicle's prow the driver side door clicked open to permit entry. _"Which begs the further question: why aren't you up there with the rest of them, wearing lampshades and dancing on tables?"_  

As she settled into the driver's seat, feeling it automatically adjust itself to her comfort, she made a concerted attempt to sort out an answer to that question. What finally came out was: "Didn't want you to be alone." 

 _"I'm flattered, but your concern is entirely unnecessary."_ He did sound a bit less snippy, though. Quite a bit less, in fact. _"I spend practically every night in solitude, recharging my power packs and crunching the day's data. I fail to see what makes this particular evening any different from the rest."_  

Shawn closed her eyes and laid her head back against the seat, scowling a little. "C'mon, KITT… don't be difficult." She reached out to pat the upper curve of the dashboard and snorted a sudden giggle: "D'you want me to go back and get you a glass of champagne? Is that it?" 

 _"Ha ha,"_ the car retorted. _"Very funny. And no, thank you — the feedback from your implant is proving quite enough of a taste of intoxication."_  

That made her open her eyes and look at the voice modulator in surprise. "You can feel that?" 

 _"Well, something is producing exceptions in my Ionic array processor, and that's as likely an explanation as any."_  

"I didn't —" Suddenly she was genuinely concerned: constant tendency to argue aside, KITT was her partner, and she had no desire to cause him intense discomfort. "Do you want me to go?" 

A pause full of consideration. A sigh. _"No… you're here now, and frankly I don't trust you to get back up those stairs in that pair of heels. What on earth possessed you to drink so much, anyway?"_  

"Well, it's New Year's Eve. That's kind of what people do." 

 _"Humans!"_ KITT remarked in a tone that straddled exasperation, resignation and a hint of fondness he would never openly admit to under the most dire tortures. 

Shawn fell silent, studying the high-tech dashboard in front of her and reflecting that she wasn't fully human herself — not anymore. She had a chip in her head now, and it had brought a clarity of thought and persistence of memory that she'd never known before. Furthermore, it was KITT's chip, and that had led to an interface of their personalities that she still wasn't entirely comfortable with almost nine months after the fact. There were times when she caught herself saying and doing things that were clearly not products of her own mind, or at least not entirely — and... 

… well, that's why she was down here now, wasn't it? To usher in 2001 with the creature that had effectively become the other half of herself. To be, at the moment of transformation, fully whole for a brief span of seconds. No limits. No barriers. No acrimony and no resistance. Just… harmony, however fleeting it might prove to be. 

She laid her hand on the dash again. She closed her eyes. She reached out from within, and heard KITT make a small noise almost like static, impossible to interpret… and yet she knew exactly what it meant: surprise, and then grudging acceptance. The air between them became as cool and as clear as crystal, their chronometers ticking away the final seconds in synchronicity. 

"Happy New Year, KITT," she murmured at the final second, overlapping his own words: _"Happy New Year, Shawn."_  

They crossed into the future together, briefly but undeniably at peace. 

THE END


End file.
